In the line that meandered through the displays of deep velvets and the sparkle of sequins sown to necklines, through tables piled with holiday décor now a little less festive with Christmas past, I stood, hands full. Turning the items this way and that, considering, shifting my weight from one foot to another, wondering if I really needed this cheery garland now half off, or the ornament and the sweater meant to be paired with a party dress. But such great deals, hard to resist.

At some point I looked up, my eyes swept the scene before me and the frenzy of the after-Christmas sale seemed to hush. Had I not been here before? Had I not been here hundreds of times before? My favorite store, compelling not just for what one could purchase, but also for the experience of it, just the sheer delight of walking into its beautiful midst. Colors and textures, patterns and light all satiating just a bit of my hunger for beauty. Somehow the unspoken draw that this place could help me set the world a little right, enable me to carve out a space restful and fair.

My heart startled, a gag constricting my throat, an unconscious shake of the head, trying to clear the bafflement, the tilting sense of disorientation. The contrast suddenly slicing, a rogue waving knocking me off axis. How? How can these two worlds lay side by side? No more than a mile up the road dwells a place I had known about for years, but never before known. The Children’s Hospital sat on a hill on the way to my friend’s house, on the way to a lovely park along the lake, to a plant nursery I liked to peruse. It was a landmark I passed by, never a destination.